Deck the Hall
by Kaprou
Summary: Peter Parker's Web of Shadows AU. An adaptation of "Beowulf" using Peter Parker and Killer Croc in the Web of Shadows. Read, review, recommend. (Complete)
1. Deck the Hall 1

Peter folded the paper in half and rapped it on the table. "If I just pass all my classes this semester," he said, turning in his chair to look over his shoulder, "I graduate no problem."

The attractive redhead on the couch stretched languorously, holding her trashy novel in one hand. "I know I'll graduate," she said. "I picked all blowoff classes for my last semester. I figured I'd just get an English degree then marry someone rich." She inspected her nails. "I figure I'll look into a career in public relations instead."

"Har har," Peter said, standing. The phone rang. He strolled over and picked it up.

"Parker place," he said. "Peter here."

"Peter, have you seen the news?" a breathy voice asked excitedly. His brow furrowed.

"No," he said. "What's up, Gwen?"

"Channel eight, you gotta check this out," she said. He walked over to the television and snapped it on.

"--ians killed in a brutal slaying in Roth Hall last night," said the trim newswoman. In the background Roth Hall stood imposing against the sky, surrounded by police tape and stern officers. "The new building was intended to be a student center, computer lab, and rare book library. Instead it became the scene of a bloody dual murder. The librarians, Ellen Deevis and Tanner Kowalski, were shelving books when they were attacked about midnight. Police have no comment at this time, but as this story develops"

Peter stood looking at the television, remote in hand. "Wow," he said into the phone.

"Isn't it amazing?" Gwen said. "Is MJ there?"

"Yeah," Peter said, a bit dazed. He tossed the phone to the redhead, who deftly caught it.

"I'll just bet those librarians were 'shelving books' in the middle of the night," Mary Jane said archly. "I'll have to call you back," Mary Jane added more seriously, and she pushed the button to disconnect before Gwen could reply. Peter turned to look at Mary Jane.

She sighed.

"Go get 'em, tiger," she said with a wry grin.

He smiled at her, then he was out the door.

**xXx**

"Get the circus out of here, will you?" the lean man said with a glance at his blocky subordinate.

"Yes sir," the heavy man said. He opened the doors and stepped into the bright lights of the cameras and the throng of press. "No comment. We'll hold a press conference as soon as we know more. Now git," he said, and he turned to re-enter the office. "How do ya have a circus with just lions and clowns?" he asked as he pulled the door shut behind him. Uniformed officers shepherded the press away.

"Beats me," the lean man said, tapping a cigarette out of a battered packet. He put it between his lips but did not light it. With a sigh he picked up the sheaf of photos.

"Messy," the heavy man said, looking over his shoulder.

The door to the office opened, and both men looked up sharply.

"I said no comment," the big man said.

"I'm not with the press," the newcomer replied. He was on the tall and slim side, dressed in khakis and a turtleneck even in the spring warmth. His brown hair was slicked back, his nondescript features unimaginative. His eyes were a bit deeper than the rest of him.

"Parker," the lean man said.

"Detective Brilhart," Peter replied. "Do you have just a minute?"

"We're busy," the big man said, his voice surly.

"I don't believe we've met," Peter said. "I'm Peter Parker." He extended his hand.

The big man just looked at him.

"This is Detective Joseph Vine," Brilhart said, gesturing. "What do you want, Parker?"

"I was wondering if I might be helpful on this case," Peter said carefully.

"Another cooperative investigation?" Brilhart said.

"Something like that," Peter nodded. "Something a lot like that, actually."

"Hey," Vine said. "You know something, out with it. Otherwise, hit the bricks, pal."

"Hit the bricks?" Peter said, faintly bemused.

"I'm afraid the good detective is right on this one, Parker," Brilhart said. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Detective," Peter said, looking at Brilhart and ignoring Vine, "you know me better than to think I'm here to waste your time. I might be helpful. There's that business with Lincoln and Voorhees; the stolen Schwinters collection; the unusual events surrounding the disappearance and reappearance of Doctor Connors, the mysterious stabbing of Captain Stacy. You know what I can do," he said, intent on Brilhart, "and how discreet I can be. Give me a chance to help you out on this one. I don't want to dance this dance again."

"And you've decided you're going to involve yourself," Brilhart said, studying his cigarette. "One way or another."

Peter did not answer.

Brilhart met his eyes for a long moment.

"Aw, no," Vine said. "You can't be serious."

Brilhart opened the file. "Okay, Parker," he said. "These are the photos of the bodies." He handed the manila folder over, and Peter paged through the enlarged pictures. "Right now we're trying to figure out how the perpetrator got in. We've reviewed the security tapes, nothing useful there. Nobody saw anything. The doors and windows were locked and sealed, we've found no evidence of tampering." He looked over at Vine. "Parker is an advisor only. He's not officially involved in the case."

Peter's eyes lingered on the mangled corpses in the pictures. He cleared his throat. "The press didn't say anything about this," he said. "The tv news said they were brutally murdered. Not that they were torn apart." He closed the file. "I want to see the site," he said quietly.

"Not an option," Vine said quickly. "Only police are allowed in that building until we're sure it's safe."

Peter looked at Brilhart, who sighed.

"We're staking the place out tonight," Brilhart said. "We have six S.W.A.T. officers on the job. If whatever it was comes back then we'll see how it does against M-16s."

"That's a bad idea," Peter said, shaking his head and handing the file back.

"Look," Brilhart said, narrowing his eyes. "You're pushing your luck, Parker. I don't think you want to do that."

"Thanks for letting me look at the file," Peter said with a nod. "I really appreciate it. I'll be in touch."

"Don' let the door hit yer butt on the way out," Vine muttered as Peter left. He turned to Brilhart. "What was all that about?" he said. "We letting any Joe Schmoe in on our investigation now?"

"No," Brilhart said quietly. He turned to Vine. "Have a full two squads of S.W.A.T. outside Roth Hall tonight on standby."

Vine sighed. "Yes sir."

**xXx**

"Got any leads, Encyclopedia Brown?" Mary Jane asked as Peter walked in.

"I'd say it's chili, with garlic bread browning in the oven," Peter said, touching his hand to his concentrating forehead. "I would say grapes on the side." He opened his eyes. "How did I do?"

"You know," Mary Jane said thoughtfully, "I cook more over here than I do at home. Anyway, you've cracked the case," Mary Jane said as Peter straddled a chair. She turned from the stove. "Somehow I think that in spite of your detecting prowess you'll still be oddly absent come sundown."

"It's tough to live with being that transparent," Peter chuckled. "As for leads. When I first saw the pictures," he said, and he swallowed hard, "I thought it had to be Creed. These people were torn to pieces. But then I found out the perpetrator left no clear sign of entry. That makes me think of the lizard; makes more sense, since he's used the campus as a lair before and Creed has no reason to do this. I could find out a lot more if they'd let me on the site. But they won't."

"So you're going to skulk."

"Good word," Peter said with a nod. "Yes, I shall skulk." He sighed.

Mary Jane pulled the bread out of the oven and served up the bowls of gloppy chili. Peter got up and helped himself, then they sat down at the table.

"It's hours until sundown yet," Mary Jane said.

Peter looked up at her.

"Perhaps I can help you pass the time," she said with a sly grin.

"That," he said, "sounds like a _wonderful_ idea."

**xXx**

The spider ghost skulked along the roof. There were skylights, yes, but they had steel shutters that were pressure sensitive. He had already shadowed along the walls and looked the windows over. They were thick modern windows, well installed, with a security system. Subtlety would be required to breach them without tripping the alarm; subtlety that didn't seem to match the vicious attack. The spider ghost had also noticed the two S.W.A.T. vans parked out front, the patrolling officers.

This building could be broken into easily enough by a professional thief, but not by a monster. Peter sat lost in thought for a moment. He could just peel a shutter back and slip in, but that would leave signs of forced entry. Peter was pretty sure he didn't want to leave evidence that could tie him to the murderer. He did _not_ want to be a suspect.

A low swell of alertness swept through him; something out of place. He perked up and looked around. Then he heard the gunfire.

And the screaming.

Inside.

As backup mobilized and dashed in the front door in full gear, assault rifles ready, the spider ghost whirled along the side of the building erratically, glancing in windows, trying to get a lock on the muffled screaming that cut short along with the bursts of gunfire. Sealed in the building, the sound bounced around until his senses couldn't pinpoint a source. He heard shouts inside as he turned to check out the last side of the building, but he couldn't see anything. He darted up to the roof, found the one skylight that wasn't shuttered because the glass was tough enough. The tented skylight was huge, and it ran half the length of the building. He looked down into the central concourse.

Five bodies were torn limb from limb and strewn about the three story hall that accessed the rest of the building. Almost sixty feet up, Peter saw a drop of blood on the inside of the glass; he moved to the slowly oozing drop of blood and looked at it, inches away, while on the floor far below the S.W.A.T. team frantically searched the building.

"Where's Merkel?" shouted one of the officers.

Then another officer stumbled out of the student lounge, desperately fighting back nausea. "Most of him is in there," he managed in a shaky voice.

Peter glared down at the carnage. "Well, Connors," he murmured, "you're off the hook." Whatever did this was stronger than the lizard.

A lot stronger.

Peter gritted his teeth and fought the feeling of helplessness that washed him.

"Time to be Peter Parker," he said to himself, "and see if we can get a little closer."

**xXx**

The unmarked pulled up and parked, and as Brilhart opened the door Peter stood by it, coffee in hand. Peter smiled wryly at him. "Good morning, officer," he said.

"You want to come in with us," Brilhart stated.

Peter nodded silently.

Brilhart heaved a sigh and glanced at Vine.

"I can't believe you're even thinkin about letting this college boy take a look at a crime scene _we_ haven't even seen yet." Vine's features were set.

Brilhart eyed Parker. "Okay," he said. "Okay, you can come. But don't get out of line or this collaboration is over."

Vine snorted but said nothing. He glared at Peter.

"Right," Peter said as Brilhart took the coffee. The three of them headed up through the police barricade to the Hall, then inside.

The stink of death hung in the air.

"Dear God," Brilhart muttered. He glanced up to where an arm, torn from the body, balanced on one of the support beams two stories above the floor.

"The S.W.A.T. team is a mural," Vine said unsteadily, eyes wide as he looked around. "What could do this?"

Peter squatted by one of the bodies, then glanced around keenly. "Let's go to the student lounge," he said.

"Vine, find out what you can," Brilhart said. He went with Peter to the lounge.

Scattered on the floor were the tattered remains of one of the officers. Peter knelt and took in the sight, then looked at Brilhart.

"This one was eaten. So was one of the librarians." He looked down. "The quantities that are gone would imply to me dessert rather than the meal. But that might change. Whatever did this," he said, looking back at Brilhart, "likes the taste of people."

"You wanted to come in so you could figure out how the perp accessed the building," Brilhart said in a tight voice. "Do your magic, Parker."

Peter walked to the computer lab, drawing puzzled looks from the officers on the scene. The forensics crews were at work now, taking pictures and samples. Outside, the media had arrived in force.

Peter walked into the labs. "You've studied the security schematics, right?" he said to Brilhart.

"Of course."

"There must be vents for cabling, maintenance, and so on, made big enough for people to crawl into. Right?" Peter said.

"Right, but there are sensors on all the entries to the system. We'd know if it was accessed."

"Maybe," Peter said with a shrug. The lab's ceiling was a story and a half, a solid twenty feet off the ground. Peter peered up. The lights hung lower, about ten feet up, leaving the ceiling in shadow.

Peter picked up a chair and put it on a table, then climbed up and reached for a light fixture. He pulled himself up to stand on the florescent bar light housing.

"What are you doing?" Brilhart said. "Don't break your neck!"

"I won't," Peter said. He nimbly walked along the light and hopped to the next one. Then a jump took him high enough to grip--

A hole in the ceiling.

Peter pulled himself up into the access corridor then looked down at Brilhart. "Whatever it was seems to have made its own access. That's why the alarms weren't tripped. I'm going to see what I can find from here," he added.

"I'll be damned," Brilhart said softly. "I'm going for backup. Don't do anything stupid!" he yelled. Then he turned and dashed out to the concourse.

"I won't," Peter said softly. He pulled himself further into the narrow access. It stank of old and diseased reptilian nastiness. The tunnel was a solid three feet square, but the walls and roof were rubbed hard; whatever it was must have had to really squeeze to fit in here. Peter didn't have that problem. He stealthed along, the scent of his prey fresh in his nostrils. The trail led to a vertical shaft, and down. Peter followed it in the dark, his senses telling him everything he needed to know.

The raw violated metal had been torn through, and Peter poked his head through the hole, down into the sewer. And from there…

Peter's hand touched something damp. He focused on it. Where the wall had been beaten through, it must have cut the creature that did it. A small scrap of flesh was wedged in the metal by the brick. Peter prized it loose and put it in a ziploc bag in his pocket.

Then Peter felt a chill, and he pulled back, retreated all the way through the venting system to emerge from the ceiling as the police brought in a ladder.

Peter dropped to the light, to a table, and hopped to the floor. "It goes to the sewer," he said to Brilhart.

"Checkpoints in sewer intersections under this building," Brilhart said to Vine. "Teargas, full gear, all weapons. I want two full squads in here tonight, and one in the sewer. This will _not_ happen again. I want to be ready for it this time, you read me?" he said.

"I'm on it," Vine said. He turned and headed out. "And I'll tell the press--"

"No comment," Brilhart said with a nod. He turned back to Peter. "I'll be in touch," he said.

Peter saw new doubt in the detective's eyes. He nodded.

"See you later," he said, and he left.

He checked his time sense. One o'clock. Hm. Doug would probably be sleeping.

He swung by a diner, ordered coffee and a bagel, and scribbled a note on a napkin as he swiftly ate. Then he wrapped the note around the ziploc bag, drove to a condo some distance away, and left it in a mailbox. He smiled to himself as he drove home to get some sleep.

**xXx**

A line of webbing shot out, slapped into the phone, and carried it off the table to splat against the wall. Peter's head popped up off the pillow, his eyes blearily tracing the line of his web to where the phone rang again.

"Dammit," he grunted, rolling out of bed and bounding to the phone. He pried the handset loose from the wall. "Parker place, Peter here," he managed.

"Thought you'd be interested," Brilhart's voice said over the line. "I got an eyewitness to the last case. She's scared of uniforms. Thought maybe she'd tell you something she wouldn't tell us."

"I thought you had janitorial staff cleared out before the stakeout," Peter said.

"She was on vacation and didn't get the note. You want a shot at this or not?"

Peter squinted at the clock. Class in two hours, a chemistry test. No big deal. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," he said. He hung up. "Get dressed," he muttered, "go solve the crime, then take Chemistry test." He smiled crookedly. "Doesn't leave much for after lunch."


	2. Deck the Hall 2

He strolled into the police station, saw Brilhart turning some paperwork over to the front desk. Brilhart turned to him and nodded. "This way," he said. "To the interrogation room."

"So what's her name?" Peter said.

"Maria," Brilhart said, opening the door. "She'll be here in a minute."

Peter walked into the small room with a table and two chairs. He glanced up at the security cameras. There was only one window in the room, a slot on the door. Peter narrowed his eyes. The door closed behind him.

Suddenly his senses flared to life as he heard the bolt slide on the door.

"Hey," he said. "Brilhart. What gives?"

Brilhart pulled the slot open and looked in at Peter.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"There's no witness," Peter suddenly realized, going numb. "What the hell are you doing, Brilhart?"

"I have to be sure of you, Parker," Brilhart said. "This is for your own good. I'm not charging you, this is protective custody. I can't keep you away from the crime scene any other way, and tonight is important. You'll be moved to a cell shortly." He paused. "I'm sorry." He snapped the slot closed.

Peter stared at the door, feeling rage swell in him. It took all his energy to resist yanking the door from its frame, tossing it at the nearest cop, snatching Brilhart, and suspending him from a flagpole two hundred feet from the ground. _Then _continuing the investigation.

Then there would be no more Peter Parker. He sighed, and sat down at the table.

"Lunch better be damned good," he muttered. He growled as he rubbed his eyes. "'I'm sorry, mister teacher, I missed the test because I was in _protective custody_.' And he thought he'd heard it all…"

**xXx**

Peter paced the narrow cell. He knew everything there was to know about it; the composition of its walls, how thick the paint was and how many times it had been painted, the brand and condition of the mattress on the shelf bunk, the tensile strength it would take to rip the bars clean out of the wall and stroll to freedom.

It had been a long, long night.

The heavy door at the end of the cell block's hall opened, and Brilhart walked in. He was unshaven, ashen faced; he moved like a man twice his age. He walked up to Peter's cell and unlocked it, not making eye contact.

"This has got to stop," he said quietly. "I don't want the details."

He didn't watch as Peter left.

**xXx**

Peter stopped at the pay phone and called Mary Jane. The phone rang almost through a single ring before it was snatched up.

"Hello?" Mary Jane said.

"This is Peter," he said grimly.

"Peter, where've you been?" she said, trying to be casual.

"Brilhart lured me to the station and locked me up with protective custody so I wouldn't interfere in their efforts last night," Peter said, trying not to sound bitter and failing.

The other end of the line was very quiet.

"I'm headed over there now," Peter said. "To see what I can see."

"Don't you think you should go to school first?" Mary Jane said. "There was a pop quiz in astronomy too, I hear."

Peter groaned. "I'll get over there and see what I can salvage," he said. "But I can't let this go on."

"I understand," Mary Jane said. "Just get it over with, will you? And no more protective custody without a phone call."

"I'll try to avoid that in the future," Peter said dryly. He paused. "You're the first and only person I've called since they let me out. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Smoothie," Mary Jane said. "Bye." She hung up.

Peter hung up too. "Not sure I've been called _that_ before," he said with a sigh.

Then his eyes narrowed and he headed for the campus.

**xXx**

As Peter ducked under the fluttering police tape line, he noticed a considerable amount of vomit in the bushes by the front door. This was sure to be lovely. As he approached, none of the police noticed him; indeed, even if he spoke to them he wasn't sure they'd notice him. They weren't supposed to. Because he wasn't supposed to be here.

Peter walked in the front door and stiffened at the carnage. The bodies were still in place, a forensics team taking pictures and recording every detail of their gristly deaths. Peter carefully stepped around and over the evidence as he took it in.

First things first.

He headed to the security room. The door had been blasted off its hinges from the inside by a blow from a deeply powerful fist. Peter glanced in. The monitors that weren't smashed were clotted with remains. A gaping hole in the wall told the story. The intruder crawled through the vents to get in the wall of the security center, then started the attack. Those in close quarters, taken by surprise, had no chance. Only a small grouping of shots hit the ceiling. Then three men were dead. Peter's senses played across the room, building a picture for him of how it had gone.

The noise had alerted the others. Peter turned, and in his mind's eye he could see reinforcements running down the hallway when the door blew off its hinges. They would stop. Ready their weapons. Peter looked carefully, picking out details that it would take hours for a normal man to glean from the surroundings. The creature had pulled back, down the hall away from the officers, around the corner, and they had chased it while firing. Peter walked around the corner. It had waited, pouncing at close range. They had hit it, they must have hit it, but its hide could take a few hits and then they were all dead. Peter looked at the ceiling and saw a bloody palm print the size of his chest. Sharp claws had created small holds, the creature had sort of palmed the ceiling and the wall to slowly crawl. It was that strong. Right.

He followed the trail. It had clung to the ceiling and crawled around to the balcony, to the rafters. Securing high ground. Peter walked out to the concourse. Two snipers on the rafters; one had been taken unawares, the other had panicked and jumped. Peter saw a severed line where one of them had leaped off and been killed in the air, and the paramedics were quietly discussing how to get the other down.

As the snipers were killed, the police had pulled back to the concourse, circled up, ready to take him with concentrated firepower. But he had dropped from the rafters in the middle of their cluster, restricting their fields of fire.

Peter stood looking silently at the mound of bodies. One had been bitten through the face and dropped. One had been backhanded to sail twenty feet to break headfirst into a pillar. One's armor vest had been stomped, breaking every bone in his chest. The paramedics had tried to save him, but he had drowned in his own blood. Yes, they had an opportunity to fire. But it wasn't enough.

A few lost their nerve and ran. They were hunted. Peter spent another twenty minutes walking through the building, staying out of the way of the crews recording evidence and removing bodies. He accounted for sixteen bodies, over two squads. Then he returned to the security room.

He peered inside the vent, saw a sloppy bloody smear on the way up, both rust colored blood smears and a darker shade. It was wounded when it crawled up.

So it didn't start here.

Peter glanced around; no one was watching at the moment. He dropped into the shaft, navigated to where the ventilation had been punched through from the sewer access. He hesitated, then dropped into the sewer.

A thin sheet of filth lay across the sewer access tunnel. The acrid tang of teargas hung heavy in the air, and the coppery stink of blood swirled up from where his feet disturbed the surface of the liquid he stood in.

That's when he felt it.

His scalp crawled as he sensed the malignant evil hanging in the air. As he breathed in he was suffused with the stench of the power behind the thing that had done this.

He didn't need to walk through the junction to find where the police had been surprised and mangled. He knew what he faced now. There was no point in trying to trace the creature back to its lair. The tunnels were its home territory now, and the teargas was wreaking havoc with Peter's senses. His jaw tightened as he swiftly navigated the ducts to return to the hall. He didn't have to find it.

He only had to wait. In this hall. Tonight. It would find him.

As he approached the concourse, he saw that the bodies had all been picked up and there were drastically fewer police in the building at this point. He saw the glare of lights and he approached the front of the concourse, where he saw Brilhart's back as the detective talked to the press. Their cameras and lights and microphones were lined up on him as he gave his statement.

"has given his approval," Brilhart was saying. "I have a Special Crimes Unit working on the case now. The regular police have been pulled back, with only S.W.A.T. officers and specialists on hand. The monster that's been killing our police will be dealt with firmly. This spree will end."

"Detective," one reporter said, "you said 'monster.' Can you give us any details?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Brilhart said with a crooked grimace that could be a grin.

"Parker," Vine said, mouthing the word like it tasted bad. Peter turned to see the heavy detective approach. "Brilhart said you'd be here."

"Special Crimes Unit?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised.

Vine shrugged. "Brilhart is bluffing. He thinks _you_ are the Special Crimes Unit. He thinks you can somehow pull this off. And the mayor didn't approve. The mayor is just going to keep his mouth shut in case it works. If it doesn't, tomorrow morning Brilhart is in deep trouble if you screw up. The commissioner is too wrapped up in his battle with Internal Affairs to be much help one way or the other, his authority is shot. If you somehow work all this out, then everybody's a hero."

Peter nodded. "I understand. Can I please have the building to myself tonight? Well, me and a friend of mine."

"No," Vine said, his voice flat. "I insist on having some volunteers in the building. All these guys had pals that were massacred by this thing. They have a reason, and frankly I trust them more than I trust you. Don't you dare argue with me, either. Brilhart just staked his whole career on your goofy claims." Vine scowled at Peter.

"I don't like you," Vine added. "I don't know what's going on here and I don't like it."

"I have this friend," Peter said. "He specializes in stuff like this."

"Then why isn't _he _here?" Vine muttered, squinting.

"He's shy," Peter said, "and that's all you need to know."

Vine was quiet for a moment. "Brilhart aint gonna be around forever, you snot," he said. "Just remember that." He turned and clumped off.

"Thank you, have a nice day," Peter nodded after him. Peter headed to the back door, where an officer stood guard. The officer let him out.

"Gotta go home," Peter muttered to himself as he headed down the sidewalk. "Get some mesh, get some food. After I've talked to my professors to salvage what I can out of this fiasco." He gritted his teeth. "This would be a lot easier," he murmured, "if the whole thing wasn't my fault."

**xXx**

Dusk.

"So when do you think this sorry s.o.b. will come get some?" one officer asked another.

"Full dark," the other nodded, his steely eyes glinting, his jaw tight. "It won't wait tonight."

"Think so?" the officer said.

"Oh yeah. It has a taste for blood and mayhem, and it's just getting warmed up."

They stood guard over the front door to the concourse, looking out at the darkening world through the thick glass. They saw Peter Parker walk up the sidewalk towards the building.

"We don't _have_ to let him in," one officer smirked.

"The other scowled. "We'll want him in here tonight," he said. "He knows about blood and mayhem."

"You're kidding, right?" the smaller man said, eyebrows raised.

"It's in the eyes," officer said with a nod. "We want him in here tonight."

"Whatever you say, Petit," the officer said, unlocking the door. Peter stepped in with a nod.

"Gentlemen," he said. He glanced around, then up. "All ten of you accounted for. It's good that you didn't go down into the sewer."

"No need," Petit said. "It's on its way now."

"I have no doubt you're right," Peter nodded. "Where's Vine?"

"Brilhart pulled him off this stakeout," Petit said. "Didn't want him to slow you down. When you do what you do."

"It's not so much what I do as who I call," Peter said.

"Whatever you say," Petit nodded.

Peter let that go. "I need you to do something for me."

"What's that," Petit said.

"When this thing shows up it's going to get ugly," Peter said. "This killer can't be stopped with bullets. Not fast enough. People will die. And there are enough dead cops."

"You swear you can stop it?" Petit said.

"It will be stopped," Peter said, looking straight into the other man's uncompromising stare.

Petit searched Peter's eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "When the monster comes," he said, "we'll pull back while you keep it busy."

Peter slowly nodded. "It'll have to do," he said. "I just came to see how things are set up. I'm on my way out now. I'll send my friend. Could someone unlock the third window from the left on the balcony?"

"I'll see to it personally," Petit said.

"Good," Peter said. "I'll see you all tomorrow, hale and hearty. And don't let my friend get taken out by friendly fire."

"Sleep well," Petit said. He let the door close as Peter walked down the steps, away from the building.

"What do you think of that, Fenwick?" Petit asked the other officer.

"He's nuts," Fenwick said with a shrug. "I have no idea what Brilhart is thinking on this one."

Petit smiled. "I'll go unlock the third window from the left on the balcony, and maybe we'll find out."

**xXx**

Five policemen were set up in shooting positions in the concourse, the other five patrolled the perimeter of the vast hall. Almost nine o'clock.

A grunting cough rolled through the building, low and deep; it was a sound that chilled the officers to the bone.

"Get ready, men," Petit said into the tac net. "Here we go."

All around the room, M-16s were cocked.

With a dull crunch, one of the shooters on the balcony flew out into open space and slowly fell end for end, missing the back of his head, then smacked down on the floor. He bounced then slid, then was utterly still.

A full minute ticked by.

Then some instinct warned Petit, and he spun--

To see a hellish face, massive fangs, darting down at him--

A sleek black fist crashed into the jaw of the monster, knocking its bite off course and sending it reeling. Petit felt an incredible push in his chest armor as the spider ghost shoved him. He fell and slid twenty feet, then rolled to his feet; he had no shot that didn't threaten his rescuer. He turned and sprinted along the balcony; "Fall back!" he gasped, breathless from the shove. "Fall back to the front door!"

Behind him, the spider ghost squared off with the huge shadow.

It was easily seven foot, maybe taller if it didn't hunch. It's skin was a filthy, mottled gray, tough and leathery and scored with small bullet wounds. It was hairless, its head smooth and its jaw elongated and stuffed with razor sharp teeth. Glittering eyes were set deep in heavy bone sockets. It flexed its claws as it loomed over the smaller man.

"Let's dance," Peter said.

He easily evaded its snap, then it lashed out with its talons. Peter slid around the first swipe, then hopped off the balcony as it swung again. It was fast for a creature its size; faster than a normal man. Not in the league of the spider ghost. The monster bounded off the balcony, landing on the floor of the concourse with a reverberating thud.

It was beginning to grow angry; Peter saw the rage building in its beady eyes. It rushed to him, slashing and snapping, and he ducked and slid out of the way of the attacks. That's it. Wear yourself out. He gracefully backflipped out of the creature's range, and it sprang at him.

He smiled.

He landed on his back, kicking hard, and the spring was met with a precise two heeled kick to the collarbone. The monster's momentum reversed, but it didn't fly back far. It bounced off the spider ghost's feet and landed, slashing.

Peter twirled out of the way. There should have been a snap. But there wasn't.

He scooted back, planning his next move. The massive monster hunched, ready to spring. Then the fully automatic clatter of assault rifles roared out from the doorway to the concourse, and a hail of bullets slapped into the monster. One officer launched a grenade.

The monster bucked and reeled, twitching, as the bullets kicked it back. Then the fragmentation grenade exploded, sending razor sharp bits of metal casing singing along the walls and floor. They stopped shooting into the slow swirling of smoke.

For a moment it was quiet except for the tinkling roll of shell casings. They listened intently, but their hearing was brutalized from the gunfire. Not one of them looked up.

Then the monster crashed to the ground in front of them, the spider ghost riding him all the way to the floor from his ambush spot on the ceiling. "Run, dammit!" the spider ghost shouted as the monster rolled over with a backhand swipe that would have taken his guts out if he had not bounded clear.

Petit saw that its hide was bloody and torn. The bullets had at least penetrated. And now he was point blank. He snarled and opened up with the rifle, blasting away.

It was so _fast._ The monster rolled, evading much of the fire. Its hide deflected some of the rest, then it slapped Petit's gun away and snatched his vest, arm poised to slash at his head.

Then the spider ghost was behind it again, snatching the wrist. "Go _now_ or _die_," the spider ghost grunted as he spun, applying all his strength to holding the monster's wrist. It was lifted over his head, slung through the air, and smashed down on the ground. Petit was along for the ride, still gripped in the monster's free hand. He slammed down and everything went dark for him.

The officers piled out the front door of the concourse; only one hesitated. The monster slung Petit as a weapon, swinging the unconscious man against the spider ghost. The spider ghost was out of the way, snatched the body and tugged on the back of the flak vest. It tore, freeing the officer. As part of the same smooth spin, the spider ghost grabbed the man and shoved him at the last officer, knocking them both down. Then he turned to face the monster as it freed its claws from the vest.

"Come on," Peter said to it. "Your fight is with me, not them. Show me what you've got."

Blood trickled down its arms and chest and scalp from dozens of inconsequential wounds, light scratches in its incredibly tough hide. It looked at the spider ghost, then over at the two downed police, then back at the spider ghost. It leaped.

The conscious officer screamed as the vast bulk closed in on him, but then the spider ghost was between them. The spider ghost snatched the monster's wrist and slung it off course. The huge creature crashed into the wall. Peter did not release the wrist; he bounded to the side and tugged hard. The monster was jerked away from the wall and slung around. It pulled its arm in to its chest, trying to catch him in a bear hug, but he was adhered to the wrist now. He gracefully shifted so the momentum of the move carried him over the monster's shoulder. He tugged hard, trying to dislocate the shoulder.

Instead, the monster flexed its legs, torso, and arm to swing its captor over it to crash down on the floor and shatter. The spider ghost arced over it, refusing to let the wrist go, but landed on its feet and squatted, taking the entire force. The spider ghost spun down on one knee, and the monster was wrenched to the side, off its feet, to slide awkwardly on the ground.

"I'm not letting go until you give up," Peter Parker gritted out, staring into the beady eyes of the creature he gripped. It chuffed out a breath. Peter went cold as he smelled his own breath in the breathing of this creature.

_Here we go_, he thought. _The next ten seconds are the most critical._

His world was full of the claws that tore through the air at him, but he managed to whirl out of the way and bounce up as the jaws snapped at him. He screamed as he jerked at the arm, pulling the monster off balance. It was so strong! Stronger than he was. But he had its wrist. This wasn't going to end prettily.

The spider ghost was not about to lose this one.

The monster charged bodily at a pillar, the spider ghost on its wrist a battering ram. At the last possible moment Peter twisted out of the way, letting the monster take the full hit. He spun and yanked on the wrist, and the monster stumbled, then flexed to try to free its limb. The spider ghost was taken by surprise, pulled off the floor; in the air with no leverage he didn't have time to react before the monster spun him to smash into the wall.

Dark lights exploded in Peter's vision; he knew he still had the wrist but he couldn't feel it anymore, and the whole world swirled around him. He saw jaws, he punched; he saw the floor, he twisted. For a disorienting, shocking moment he wasn't sure which way was up. Then he saw a wall, and slammed his feet at it, sticking for all he was worth.

In that moment he realized it was trying to get away from him.

He followed its gaze to see one officer trying to heft the other out of the building. The monster lunged for them.

"No!" Peter shouted, clinging to the wall with his feet and to the wrist with both hands.

It buckled down and exerted itself. Peter howled as he felt like he'd be pulled in two. Then the stonework he was adhered to tore out of the wall and he was carried along in the monster's rush.

"No!" Peter shouted again, twisting the arm as hard as he could. Through his fingers where they clamped down near bone, he felt the joint grind and creak as he twisted. The monster ignored the pain, hellbent on claiming two more lives at least.

Peter suddenly had a very clear choice. He was too shaky to be sure of stopping the monster before the police were killed. The only way he could do it was to kill the monster. Its life or theirs.

He remembered its eyes.

No, there must be another way.

Peter gritted his teeth as he slung his knee into the monster's elbow hinge from behind; he felt a tendon go in the arm. Then he rammed both his feet into the monster's armpit, bucking straight with every fiber of strength he had. The monster screamed and fell, and the two of them slid along the floor towards the police.

"**Leave**," Peter gritted, twisting, "**them**," as something in the shoulder crunched, "**ALONE!**"

With a nauseating rip and pop, Peter's entire strength managed to crack some ribs and dislocate the shoulder, twisting the bone sideways in a way it could not twist. Meat tore, tendons snapped, and the creature made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

The officers made it out of the building.

The creature lay squalling, a sound mixing hate and pain and fear and rage. It staggered to one knee as the spider ghost backed off, using the useless arm as a leash to control it.

"It's over," Peter said firmly. "Give it up."

It stared at him, absolutely nothing human in its eyes. Then it unleashed a fearsome scream and jerked away from him. He barely had time to stick to the floor, squat, and pull for all he was worth. The monster was unrelenting, the scream building in volume until Peter thought his head would burst.

Then it tore free.

Peter flew over backwards as the arm was pulled entirely away, the last muscle and hide that held arm and shoulder together unable to withstand the pressures they put on it.

The monster stopped screaming, staggered a few steps, and fell heavily to its knees as Peter slowly sat up, looking down in horror at the monster's arm. Its lifeblood sluiced out of its shoulder socket and spattered on the floor; it seemed like there were gallons of it. Then the monster slowly pushed itself to its feet and stumbled away from Peter.

Every muscle in his body screamed with abuse as he shoved the arm to the side and unsteadily stood.

"Give up now and you can still survive this," Peter said, knowing better and incongruously thinking of Connors.

The monster broke into a lope, headed into the hallways behind the concourse. Peter gave chase, still unsteady on his feet. It was still fast! He followed it, down the hall to the security office. He looked down through the hole in the wall. Great.

Just great.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Peter dropped into the hole, slithered along the passages the monster had taken, slicked and running with vital blood. He hit the sewers, the monster's trail easy to follow now that it was gushing like a stuck pig. Time became surreal as Peter followed the fresh plumes of blood in the sewage, plashed along the walls. He felt he was pushing against something more substantial than the smell and the darkness as he continued, a darker presence than the one he followed. After nearly an hour he came to an old pump station, where large tunnels intersected. Out of the tunnel and up on the dias, the dying monster had crawled. By the thin light of weak bulbs set in the wall Peter saw the corpse.

He took a few steps forward. This wasn't quite done.

He heard a rumbling cough in the darkness ahead, and from one of the tunnels waddled a huge crocodile. It was crusted in filth, but its teeth had grown too long, extending over and under the snout. It was blind, and its skin was laced with hardened carapace and disease.

Peter recognized a creature tainted with the Darkstone. "Alright then," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

The creature picked itself up and sprinted at him, moving its tremendous bulk with uncanny speed. Its jaws loomed, and Peter bounded towards it. He planted one foot in its jaw, in the slime by its tongue, and put his two fists on the roof of its mouth. Then he stood up. With a dull crack that echoed in the tunnels, its jaw hinge snapped. The spider ghost hopped out of the floppy mouth and punched a fist down through its eye socket, then kicked it over to the side.

"If that doesn't do it," he said, "come back and I've got some more."

Then he stiffened. Something else was here.

Something hissed in the darkness, a deep hiss that almost echoed with malignance. Peter turned and looked into the pitch darkness; it was aggressively dark, not merely lightless. Something was moving. He saw glittering, and a vast bulk pulled itself towards him. It had nine eyes.

Eight eyes. And a darkstone embedded in its head. The vast bulk of spider hauled itself closer, clacking its unreal mandibles and hissing again.

Peter gathered his strength.

"You have something that belongs to me," he said coolly.

Then he went and got it.


	3. Deck the Hall 3

An exhausted young man pulled himself out of the storm drain and stumbled into the nearby bushes, squatting in the rags that remained of his mesh. He held up a sodden baggie made of some mesh. Inside was the Darkstone. He smiled to himself.

"Go home, take a shower first and foremost for as long as it takes, then deal with last night's work," he muttered to himself.

Almost two hours later it was approaching midnight as he knocked on the door to an old brownstone mansion. The door creaked open, and Peter stepped inside. He was dressed in fresh clothes, his hair slick from his shower.

"Strange?" he said. He looked up to the balcony and saw the Sorcerer Supreme in the shadows.

"Yes?"

"I got the Darkstone," he said. "You're the only person I can think of who could put it somewhere safe so it doesn't come back to haunt me."

Strange glided down the stairs and took the paper bag, peering inside. "This is something else," he said, and he looked at Peter sharply.

"You can put it in a safe place, right?" Peter said.

"Most certainly," Strange said, closing the bag. "You did the right thing."

"I would love to stay and tell the story," Peter said, every inch of him sore, "but I really have to go finish something up."

Strange nodded. "Go. Be safe."

Peter shot him a crooked smile. "See you later." He turned and left the building.

Twenty minutes later he trudged up the steps on the sidewalk in front of Roth Hall. He chose not to be seen as he wove through the pack of press in front of the door, then he slipped past the police holding the press back. They moved to stop him, recognized him, then didn't see him. He moved through the front doors and found Brilhart standing gazing down at the arm. It was over six feet from claw to bone knob sticking out of the torn shoulder meat.

"Thought you'd never show," Brilhart said conversationally. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Simple enough," Peter said. "You set a clamp trap, it brushed against it and got its wrist caught. Couldn't pull free, so it tore its arm off trying. You just saved the day. Nothing could survive that."

"Nothing could survive it, right?" Brilhart said, looking somewhat concerned.

Peter looked him in the eye. "Nothing," he said. Brilhart nodded. He turned to Vine.

"Let's figure out some big cuff to stick on this thing so we can give the press what they want," he said. "On the double. We can only be 'making sure of the premises security' for so long before they get antsy."

"You bet," Vine said, looking at Peter. He shook his head. "Not bad," he said. "You got some amazing friends."

"That's true," Brilhart said, looking at him. "Maybe more than you know." He smiled at Peter, who nodded.

"All in a day's work," he said with a grin. He turned and left.

**xXx**

Peter paused before opening the door. The light was on in his apartment at close to two o'clock in the morning. He sniffed; smelled Mary Jane, bacon, eggs. He smiled and opened the door.

"Just on time," Mary Jane said. "I was just finishing up your breakfast."

"Uncanny," Peter said. "You normally eat breakfast at two in the morning?"

"What, you think I was sleeping with you out there tangling with some critter?" She smiled at him, signs of tension only barely visible around the edges. "So I'm making you breakfast. I knew you'd be back. I mean, this thing only annihilated a few swat teams. Nothing my honey couldn't handle with one hand tied behind his back."

"Ooh," Peter said, easing down into a chair. "Not the words I would have chosen."

"Anyway, you can't complain. Here's your breakfast," she said, putting the food down in front of him. "First aid clinic is set up in the corner for after you eat." She looked at him for a moment. "So what was it?"

"You remember that business with Fisk around Christmas?" Peter said.

"He's behind this?"

"No no, that's when I found the Darkstone. It's a rock that gives power to animals, and if they bite people then the people change and get some characteristics of the animal only darker, more dangerous."

"Okay," Mary Jane said, neatly suspending her disbelief.

"There was a tussle. The rock fell into the water down by the bay. I figured it was swept out to sea or buried. Instead, it somehow got into the sewers and a crocodilian of some sort ate it. Got messed up. Bit somebody. Turned them into some kind of killer croc. Then when it was done, I don't know if the spider that originally bit me found it or if its potency somehow increased…" he said, and he trailed off. He shook himself. "Anyway, some big squishy spider beast was down there, with the stone. I settled its hash," he said, "it's over now and Strange has the stone. So it should be a closed case." He dug into his breakfast.

"And?" Mary Jane said, fork poised over her breakfast.

Peter looked up at her and blinked. "And?"

"There's something else. You stopped yourself." She waited.

"Um," Peter said, thinking back.

She raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me."

"And," he said slowly, "I was just wondering. Why it was going up into the hall, but nowhere else. Why it kept going back." He looked back down at his plate. "I just wondered if it was trying to lure me into battle. That's all." He looked at Mary Jane. "I wonder if the stone is aware. If it hates me." He paused. "I sort of got that feeling."

"Then it's good that the stone is in safe hands," Mary Jane said, returning to her breakfast.

"Yes," Peter agreed, looking down at his plate.

There was a long quiet.

"And?" Mary Jane said. "It's way too quiet for there not to be another 'and.'"

Peter leaned back. "And," he said quietly. "And. And I killed three monsters tonight." He was quiet. "They weren't human. But it was killing. And it was too close, they were too aware." He looked down at his plate. "I don't want to have to decide where the line between person and monster is. Not when it comes to killing." He looked down at his battered hands. "I don't like what I'm feeling about how that turned out. I can't help but wonder if there was another way." He looked up at her. "I just can't for the life of me think what that other way would be."

The phone rang. They looked at it, surprised. Mary Jane got up and answered it. "Hello, Parker Pad. Yeah, he's right here."

Peter took the phone. "Yes?"

"Did I wake you up?" asked a fairly excited voice on the other end.

"No," Peter said. "We were having breakfast. What's up, Doug?"

"Damn," Doug said, a bit crestfallen. "I'll try another time. Anyway, I just got the results back on that sample you left me. It's mutagenic properties are through the roof! And I just talked to Strange, so I know what's going on. Oh, he wanted me to ask you if you got any pictures."

Peter slapped his forehead. "No," he said, his voice flat. "Knew I forgot something. Silly me."

"Well, it's not too late," Doug said. "The Doctor is planning to run an article in the Planetary about this case, he's planning on getting Connors to write a formal paper and maybe getting some interviews. Who would be good?"

"Lessee," Peter said, "Brilhart, Vine, Fenwick, Petit, they were all involved."

"Well, get some pictures of them to go with the interviews," Doug said. "Show some initiative, Parker!" he added with a grin.

"You know suddenly I don't feel bad about waking you up all the time," Peter said, unable to resist grinning himself.

"I'll let you get back to your breakfast," Doug said. "Be in touch." He hung up.

Peter handed the phone to Mary Jane, shaking his head. "Some people," he said. She hung up the phone and returned.

He watched her. "Thanks for believing in me, Mary Jane," he said.

She smiled at him. "It's either that or go insane," she shrugged.

"Whaddya mean 'go'?" Peter grinned.

"You want straight stitches or not?" she said archly. She picked up her glass of orange juice. "A toast!" she said. He managed to raise his glass.

"To making the world safer," she said.

"I'll drink to that," Peter said with a smile.

They did.

3


End file.
